Meanwhile, in Provence
by anne-benedicte
Summary: Serena's taking a sabbatical after her daughter's death ; but with too much time on her hands, memories are flowing back Bernie is coming, but ...
1. Chapter 1

Chapter one

Serena was bored – bored to death, bored to tears, and she had had enough of those two lately. She knew she couldn't have stayed in Holby a moment longer – for God's sake, she had tried to strangle a colleague ! But her choice of the South of France might not have been an inspired one. She had been there several times with Edward and with Eleanor, for holidays spent basking in the sun beside the pool, tasting the rosés and generally idling about, but Provence was not quite the same alone and in the middle of the summer. Tourists had invaded the little town where she had rented a small house, and even the pool lost its appeal after a while. She had chosen St Maximin because it was close to Aix-en-Provence, smaller, but with enough shops and activities not to be totally dead. When she had arrived in April, she had spent nearly a month just pottering about her new home, watching series on Netflix, and wallowing. She had made a token visit to the basilica, admired it splendour, and never darkened its doors again.

Yet, she had soon got tired of doing nothing. She had always been hyper-active – something her mother couldn't stand about her. "Sit still! Well- behaved little girls do not tear around like hooligans!" "Don't run about like that, it's not safe!" "Stop pestering me and go to your room and find something to do!" had been her mother's continuous complaints. At school, she had been a totally nightmare – she knew that now, although obviously, at the time, she felt like the teachers blamed her for anything and everything. But to be honest, she had mostly been in trouble for good reasons – like when a boy had tried to steal her marbles, and she'd punched him in the nose. Or when she had led a food fight in the cafeteria with rock-hard buns. Or when she had painstakingly soaked all the chalk before the history lesson… Lessons mostly bored her, because despite her wild behaviour, she had a quick mind, and she understood thing faster than the rest of the students. And when she was bored, she fidgeted, chatted with her neighbours or beset the teachers with questions. She was a little know-all too, and woe betided the teacher who made a mistake – she never hesitated to point it out! She had been close to expulsion a number of times, and her mother had finally had enough of being asked to come to see the headmaster for her troublesome daughter….

Therefore, at thirteen, Serena was sent to boarding school – it would have been an unaffordable expense for her mother, but a childless relative of her father had stepped in and offered to pay the fees. The school was not far from her home, but it was a different universe. It had been impressed upon her that being sent there was not a reward for bad behaviour, but a unique chance to make a fresh start. Finding life at home with her mother unbearable, Serena had accepted without qualms. She did not reform at once, obviously. Several girls were all too ready to be led into mischief by the newcomer. She was quieter during lessons, as the level was higher than at her previous school, and so she was less bored. Moreover, some of the teachers actually encouraged debates and she enjoyed that. Outside, however, was another story. They were taken to the nearby town at least once a week, and they were allowed to go shopping in small groups. Serena decided it would be fun to have a dormitory cocktail party …During one of the shopping trip, she managed to ditch her uniform, and to convince the shopkeeper she was buying whisky and rum for her mother, who lived down the road. She had enough money, and she looked older than her age – the cashier was a young man who thought her very attractive, and wouldn't have minded asking her for a date – he didn't take much convincing to sell her the alcohol and cans of soda.

It seemed as if she was going to get away with it, as she got the bottles safely into the dorm, and at midnight sharp, she and her three roommates, equipped with toothmugs, began sampling odd concoctions of rum, whisky, Lucozade and Ribena. The drinks tasted vile, but the thrill of the illicit adventure was enough to cover their awfulness. Now, Serena had tasted alcohol at home, and although she had not particularly liked it, she had seen the consequences it had had on her mother; Adrienne after a few glasses became a much nicer person, alcohol softened her, made her happy. Serena was quite eager to get to that rose-tinted world herself, and so she drank glass after glass, encouraging her roommates to do the same. What she had not planned on was that it could make others maudlin – two of the other girls began crying softly, while she remained annoyingly sober. If she had not, her behaviour might have had severe consequences. As it was, when the third girl's face began swelling, and she began to pant, as if she couldn't breathe, Serena had enough wits left to run for the matron, who understood the situation quickly enough to inject the girl with epinephrine in time to prevent real anaphylaxis. Then, on the morning after, Serena's friend found herself in hospital, and Serena and the other two were sent for by the headmistress.

The head's secretary knocked at the study door, and let the three girls in. The head was sitting behind her desk, and she gestured for them to come and stand on the carpet. Then, she looked at then in silence with an undecipherable expression for what seemed liked ages, but was probably not more than three or four minutes. However, the atmosphere in the room was so heavy that Serena thought she would scream if it lasted any longer. She did not, but she blurted out: "Please say something! Tell us off, but say something!". The other two girls looked at her aghast. The head, however, began writing on a sheet of paper, as if she had not heard anything. She remained in silence for a few minutes longer, and by then Serena felt almost hysterical – this was much worse than any lectures she had had at her previous school, or when she had been in trouble before and got dealt with by the housemistress. Then, the head spoke at last:

"If I were you, Serena Campbell, I would refrain to tell the others what to do. Especially if the "others" are older, more experienced and in charge of your education."

Serena hung her head. The head went on : "But since you obviously want to speak, maybe you could tell me who was responsible for last night's little drink party ?"

Serena gulped, but she was no coward: "I was, Miss Ferrars. I bought the drink, and brought it to the dormitory. Helen, Janet and Clare had nothing to do with it."

\- Well, I beg to differ – you probably did not pour the drink down their throats by force.

\- No, I didn't, of course, but …I kind of encouraged them…

\- I see. I'd like you to go out right now, please, while I talk to Janet and Clare. I'll see you right after."

Serena went out to stand behind the study's door. She was feeling sick – partly from fright, partly from the nauseating concoctions of the night before. She would get expelled …what would her mother say? Where would she go – no school would take her after that! For maybe the first time in her life, she realized that actions had consequences.

The door opened, and her two roommates walked out. Both were crying. Serena stepped back in, shutting the door carefully behind her, and stood in front of the desk as before, eyes downcast.

"Look at me", said Miss Ferrars. Serena couldn't quite make out her tone. It was stern, obviously, but it held something else. Anger ? It sounded more like …pity…sorrow, even.

"When I accepted you into this school, I knew you were mischievous, disobedient, wilful, but I did not think you were stupid or malicious, Serena. Was I wrong ?"

Serena did not answer – what could she say.

"I'll take your silence for an agreement. So, if you are not stupid, how could you possibly ignore the rules in such a blatant way, betray the trust the school puts into you, and endanger a classmate in that way ?"

\- I'm sorry, Miss Ferrars."

\- I have no doubt you're sorry. Anyone with an ounce of intelligence, of common sense even, would be!"

\- Am I going to be expelled?

\- You should be. Your roommates have not been – I've taken away their privileges, and given them lines. You have had those before, but apparently, it was not enough. Moreover, your actions have put another girl's life into danger. What would you do if you were me, Serena?

Nothing but honest, Serena replied: "I guess I would expel you, Miss Ferrars. I mean me." And she waited for the verdict to fall.

There were another few minutes of silence, almost unbearable for Serena. Then Miss Ferrars spoke again: "Well ? Should I call your mother?". The tension was too much for Serena, who burst into tears. The head handed her a tissue, and waited for her to calm down. "I could expel you, Serena, but I think it would do great damage. I believe in second chances – although in your case, it is more like a tenth or eleventh chance, but I think you could be a credit to St Bride's if you applied yourself and stopped behaving like a naughty child. Do you think you can do that?"

Serena's throat was still too full of tears for her to say anything, but she nodded.

"Very well then. We agree. I'm not going to call your mother and send you packing. However, I think you'll also agree that you have earned a punishment?"

Serena murmured an almost inaudible "yes".

"As I've already said, it does not look as if lines, detention or loss of privileges have had any impact on you. Therefore, and although I very much regret it, I am going to do something I have not done to any of my pupils for the last ten years. I'm going to cane you." Serena looked up, eyes wide open – she knew, of course, that the head was the only member of the staff to occasionally apply corporal punishment, and stories circulated in the school of previous pupils who had been thus chastised, but it all seemed like ancient history….Miss Ferrars went on: "I hate to inflict pain on anyone, and at thirteen, you are almost too old for this, but I hope the memory will help you remember this day. Hold out your right hand, please." The cane fell twice on Serena's right palm, and twice on her left. The blows were not severe – they stung, but less than the humiliation of getting the cane.

Three years later, Serena Campbell, Head Girl of St Bride's, passed her Higher certificate with flying colours, and was accepted at Birmingham University School of Medicine…

(to be continued)


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

After a month of idling and keeping herself to herself, Serena decided she just had to get out of the house, or she would go mad. She decided that despite the expresso machine in the kitchen, she could try to have coffee at the big café on Place St Jean – each time she'd walked past it on the way to the shops, it had been a hub of activity – young mothers with pushchairs waiting for the end of the schooldays – well, those had been the most painful to watch, and that might have been why she'd given the place a wide berth afterwards – but also old men playing cards, and teenagers frantically texting on their mobiles. She took a book from the well-stocked shelves of the villa – it was also time to rekindle her French, which had not been her forte at school – biology and chemistry had been her favourite subjects, but she didn't seem to have any ear for languages – or music, for that matter. The music mistress had tried her best, but… The book was, predictably enough, A year in Provence by Peter Mayle …in its French translation. Armed with her paperback shield, she strolled to the heart of the village and sat down at a table in the shade. It was 2.00 in the afternoon, a time when no native in his right mind would go out – the temperature was a cool 31°, without an ounce of mistral, and the sky cloudless. She ordered coffee, which compared favourably to its homologue at Holby's cafeteria, and settled to reading.

After a while, she felt someone's glance on her, and lifted her eyes. "Quelle est donc la star qui se cache derrière ces lunettes ? », said a masculine voice from a nearby table. She had enough French to understand « lunettes » and « cacher » , and the tone in which it had been said could only said to be complimentary. She glanced at the owner of the voice – he was a tall silvery-haired man, suntanned to death like many of the natives. He was also undeniably attractive.

"Est-ce que je peux vous offrir un verre ?" said the stranger.

Merci, mais je …

Oh, you're English – let me rephrase that then – may I offer you a drink ?

Thank you, but I was just going"

Serena stood up abruptly, and went to the bar to pay for a coffee. She had no intention of getting into anything remotely romantic – getting back with Robbie had been a big enough mistake. And yet …what if Bernie never came to Provence? What if she herself went back to Holby and Bernie decided to leave again? The months when Bernie had been in Ukraine had been hard enough – and it was before …At Eleanor's funeral, and in the days after, Bernie's presence had been a great comfort. The funeral itself had been a little awkward though – Edward's family had been there, and Edward himself, and although she didn't give a damn about what HE thought, she had not wanted any scandal on that day. Liberty would have had a field's day if she had known … So although Bernie had been there, it was in Edward's arms that she had broken down in tears when the first handfuls of earth had been thrown on the coffin.

Even now, she wondered how she'd been able to get out of bed afterwards, to get back to work – as if anything made sense anymore. Her mother's death had been hard enough, but losing one's child was something no mother should have to live through. And in each case, she'd been left with the feeling that she had failed them. That she could have done more – and that she did not know them.

The expression "mad with grief" had certainly been true for her – Serena was deeply ashamed of the way she'd treated Jasmine Burrows. As head girl of her school, she'd had to intervene in cases of bullying, and she'd been merciless with the bullies. And yet, she had tortured that poor girl, blaming her for Eleanor's death, and she'd even tried to excuse her own behavior, using the alibi of "training". She could imagine herself back on the carpet of Miss Ferrars' study, and hear what that lady would have had to say…

She had been back in that study on several occasions after the painful interview, but never because she'd been in trouble. The head encouraged the students to come and talk to her, and they had had several meaningful conversations.

As she went into the newsagent's – where they most thoughtfully sold _The Times, The Guardian_ and the _FT_ – she saw a notice in the window "Cours de danse classique/ barre au sol pour adultes". Ballet classes for adults ? Now that was something she ought to try – it would make a change from swimming, and it could only be good for her joints. She wondered if she'd forgotten everything, or if she would still be able to do the splits after all those years …It must be …More than twenty-five years since she'd set foot in a studio ! Hopefully, as an adult, she would not have to wear a leotard – there was no way she'd go if it was compulsory ! But a few pliés could nicely counterbalance the effects of too many glasses of pastis and rosé …

Ballet had been one of the helping factors in her turning a new leaf at school. The head had suggested – well, demanded, really – that she tried the classes. She's said it would give Serena a sense of discipline. Serena had gone reluctantly, as she'd had no wish of adding another compulsory class to her already very full timetable. She'd dragged her feet to the studio at first, and had felt decidedly awkward at the barre during the first lessons – she'd put in a class with younger pupils as she was a beginner. However, she was naturally flexible, and although she grumbled, enjoyed exercising. She soon made progresses and graduated to a more advanced class. She noticed she fidgeted less in academic classes, too. And she began to enjoy the discipline too, the ritual of practicing the same exercises over and over again, till it came as close to perfection as possible. She enjoyed pushing her body to its limits too. The teacher, Miss Enderson, had not been lavish in her praise, but a slight smile from her meant more than a thousand compliments from someone else, and Serena had learnt to appreciate those little smiles.

Yes, she would give this adult class a go – but she wouldn't tell anyone about it, especially not Bernie – she could imagine what the Major would make of ballet dancing. Serena sighed – there were many others things she would like to tell Bernie, but phone calls were usually brief, due to Bernie's punishing schedule, and neither of them was really into letter or email writing. Some things couldn't be said in writing anyway. She'd tried to write a letter of apology to Jasmine, but all her clumsy attempts had ended up in the wastepaper basket. She would just have to wait until she got back to Holby to tell her how sorry she was, face to face. And Bernie …she just wanted to take her into her arms – she could imagine that embrace …Bernie a little stiff at first – she'd never been the one for physical contact, and then …S


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Spring segued into summer. The schools liberated their pupils, and tourists invaded the little town. Wednesdays' markets doubled in size, and cafés' tables spilt out on the pavements. Every two days or so, a festival, a concert, a dance, a car rally or a flower show was announced.

The heat was becoming unbearable, and the best place to be was in or near the pool. Even wine and food had lost their appeal. Serena had fallen into a routine of going into the town in the morning to buy bread, other edibles, and the newspaper, spending the hottest early afternoon hours watching shows even Jason would have found asinine on television, and swimming and sunbathing. She did not want to think about the future – now she was in Provence, she couldn't see herself ending her days there. She had toyed with the idea of opening a business – maybe something to do with wine…after all, her Harvard MBA would stand her in good stead for that – but she'd quickly dismissed the idea – she couldn't see herself deserting medicine altogether. Maybe she could set up as a general practitioner? There were enough English people here to make a living from that, even if her French might not be up to consulting in that language. But this would mean having to take care of sore throats and urinary infections, measles and flus …Moreover, if the English population was numerous in the South of France, it was mostly veering on the geriatric side, and she was no good with the elderly – any older lady with degenerative health would bring her back to her mother's last months …She could not cope with Alzeihmers' and Parkinsons' and dementia. And she was after all a surgeon – she would miss the thrill of the operating theatres.

And then there was Bernie …She couldn't see the Major wanting to spend the rest of her life idling in the sun.

She still couldn't quite believe what had happened. Of course, at St Winifred, some of the girls had had crushes on each other, and it was well known that one of the history teachers shared a small house with the German teacher, and probably more than a house. However, she had been very much in love with Johnny Depp, Harrison Ford coming a close second. In medical school, and later on at Harvard, she'd had numerous boyfriends, and then, of course, Edward had come along. Never for one moment would she have believed anyone telling her the love of her life might well be a blonde amazon… That first kiss had come as a complete surprise, and her exhausted brain at the time had not quite processed it as quickly as it ought to have done. At least, that's what she'd tried to tell herself during the following days. And yet, if she was totally honest with herself, there had been something almost magnetic in her first encounters with Berenice Wolfe. They were destined to be best friends or arch enemies …

The kiss had thrown her completely out of kilter though – she was not "like that", of course she wasn't. And yet, if her mind had objected, her body had been in complete agreement. Her body had leant toward her colleague on its own, and her lips had parted willingly. Not so awkward after all, although it had definitely felt so later on. She tried to imagine what it would have been like if she'd shared that kiss with someone else. Henrik Hanssen, for instance, or maybe Sasha, or Ric …. Would it have felt more "right" ? Sasha was a lovely man, but she couldn't say she felt attracted to him in the least. Ric …she knew too much about his love past – he came with a huge warning sign above his head ! As for Henrik …there was undeniably some chemistry with him, but he'd never been anything other than a good friend – he was so aloof she just couldn't see him trying to kiss her… even if sometimes, she'd wondered…

Part of her did not believe it yet, and since she'd arrived in France, she'd wondered if their relationship would be more "absence makes the heart grow fonder" or "out of sight, out of mind"…

The day she discovered the lump was like any others – sunny, hot, with just a hint of mistral. She wasn't sure at first – didn't want to be. But it was really there, under the left side of her bikini top. She'd felt her breasts becoming more tender lately, but she had attributed that to stress, and early menopause symptoms. She couldn't exactly remember the last time she'd gone to the gynecologist – she had had no use for the pill for a long time, and any non-urgent medical visit had been swallowed by day-to-day business. Of course, it could well be benign…And yet …she had a feeling…

A week later, she got an email from Bernie – even more laconic than usual, it said : "Feeling like a few days of rest and sunshine – any room for me?". Serena's answer had been equally brief: "Sunshine waiting for you here – do come". Anything else would have to be said face to face…


End file.
